


Chasing Gold

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, F/M, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: Emma Swan is a pairs skater who's been dumped by her partner, dashing her Olympic dreams. Killian Jones hasn't had a partner in several years, the heartbreak of his last dying in his arms too much to bear. Maybe what they both need is a fresh start together. And who knows, maybe they'll make a great team—one who can take gold in PyeongChang.





	Chasing Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I originally plotted a figure skating AU a few years ago, but it took the Olympics—specifically, watching US ice dancers Hubbell and Donohue—to give me the inspiration to finish it.

**2018**

Emma had to catch her breath, not for the first time this week. She was here—really here! All around her was the din of the crowd speaking countless languages, the chill air of the rink, and that iconic five-ringed logo. As she stared at it where it was painted at center ice, she pinched herself through her bejeweled costume.

The dream had finally come true. She was competing in the Olympics. This wasn’t even the first time she’d taken the ice here—the third occasion out of three, actually—but there was some truth to the saying “saving the best for last”—or at least, the most important. They were minutes away from taking the ice in the pairs’ free skate competition, sitting in second place with the gold medal easily within grasp.

It was hard to believe that not even two years ago, there was a moment when this all seemed impossibly out of reach. But honestly, that made this all the sweeter, and she wouldn’t have it any other way, or with any other partner at her side.

* * *

**2016**

“Bastard!” Emma shouted, slamming her hand against the locker. “That no-good, fucking bastard!”

“Emma, calm down.”

“How am I supposed to calm down? How can he do this, on the day we’re supposed to start training again?”

A text. That was all she’d gotten from Neal to let her know that it was over. They’d skated together for 7 years, won two US championships, and just finished 4th at Worlds. They were already a favorite to medal at the PyeongChang Olympics, even if that was a couple years away.

But just like that, he leaves her for another skater, Tamara something-or-other. Saying that he’s “only thinking of his future” or some bullshit.

“This is bullshit!”

What no one else knew was that he wasn’t just leaving her as a skating partner; he was leaving her altogether. They’d kept their romance on the down-low, even from Ingrid, their coach; so this was a double crowbar to both knees.

“Emma, we’ll figure it out.” How Ingrid could keep her cool right now, Emma couldn’t understand, but she supposed that was why some called the woman “the Snow Queen.”

Unable to deal with the rage-fueled adrenaline coursing through her body, Emma stormed out of the locker room toward the ice. (Of course she already had her skates on by the time he bothered to text.) She barely registered Ingrid’s shouts of “Emma, wait! Be careful! You could hurt yourself!” as she took to the fresh, frozen plane.

After a few warmup laps at breakneck speeds, she did a few spins before heading into jumps; that was usually how she worked off anger. First, a couple axels, then into toe loops; she nailed a few doubles before she realized she was being watched. She and Neal weren’t the only ones who trained in Storybrooke, but she’d never seen this dark-haired guy here before. Whatever. Let him watch.

She continued on through salchows and flips before working on her loops. After landing a particularly nice one, the stranger began to applaud. She rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Trying to practice here.”

“I see that, love. And doing quite well you are.”

She glanced over at the man, registering the familiar accent and not sure how she didn’t recognize him in the first place: Killian Jones, the poster boy of figure skating. It was said that no one could resist his combination of blue eyes, scruff, and skating skills.

But Emma just gagged. Ugh. He was the last person she wanted to see today.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, hands on hips as she came to a stop in front of the boards he was leaning over (and kicking up extra snow in frustration).

“It’s nice to see you too, Swan,” he replied, far more polite than she felt like being. He was right, that it had been a while since they’d seen each other—not since his last partner (and girlfriend), Milah Gold, had tragically died of an aneurysm in practice a few years ago and he’d gone solo. And honestly, she was fine with that. She’d always gotten on well with Milah whenever they saw them in international competition, but Killian? Not as much, not with his cocky demeanor and the way he flirted with anything in a skirt and skates. It was too much like someone she was trying not to think about.

Apparently, the feeling was not mutual, and he continued to be a gentleman. “You skated fantastic at Worlds,” he commented.

“Thanks. You too.” Though he’d only been a singles skater for a couple years, he still managed to take 6th place for the UK. It was impressive. And she probably would have told him then, had she not been still avoiding him, while also spending every free moment either training or taking advantage of exploring her hometown of Boston with Neal. If only she’d known…

“Where’s Cassidy?” Killian’s innocent question broke her train of thought and soured her already-awful mood; she couldn’t even reminisce on what should have been a highlight of her career now without thinking of that yellow-bellied asshole.

“Fuck if I know,” she muttered. “Wherever he and his new partner are training.”

Jones’ eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Are you serious?” Emma answered by staring at the ice and stabbing it with her toepick. “What a monumental arse.”

“Takes one to know one,” she spat back, without thinking. He visibly deflated at that, and she felt kind of bad. But only a little.

“Aye, you’re probably right,” he conceded, surprisingly genuine, as he stood up and grabbed his skates from the bench behind him. “Right then, I’ll leave you to it. I’m training here now, so…see you around.” And he took off without another glance.

As she watched him walk away, part of her screamed to apologize; her shit mood didn’t have to become his. But the other part—the part that was angry and was okay with feeding that anger, at least for today—reminded her that she didn’t need Killian, or Neal, or any guy. Maybe she could try her hand at singles, too—that was how she started way back when, right? As long as she was skating, what did it matter?

* * *

Turned out, it mattered a lot. Ingrid fully supported her rash decision to give singles a try, even if Emma hadn’t skated on her own since high school. Her friend Elsa, who trained with her and Ingrid in Storybrooke (but skated for Norway), was right on board and giving her tips. But after only a week, Emma felt a sense of loneliness sink in that she hadn’t felt since she was a kid in a group home. The ice just felt too empty with no one else there. She tried to find some sort of empowerment in that—be the one to fill it up, or some other cheesy endearment—but she knew it wasn’t that. It just felt…off.

But she’d be damned if she admitted it. Emma Swan didn’t give up. That’s why she was here, at the rink at 10 on a Tuesday night, trying her damnedest to get her triple toe loop. She would need that if she wanted even a hope of succeeding on her own. But she couldn’t get that last half rotation, and she was pretty sure it was just mocking her now every time she came down facing the wrong way.

“You need to start lower.”

She nearly had a heart attack at the man’s voice; she’d been certain she was the last one in the building (they’d given her a key years ago). Turning to face it, she found Killian, in the same place he’d been last week, wearing the same smirk.

“Excuse me?”

“If you want that extra half rotation, you need to start lower; bend your knee more.”

She tilted her head to assess him. Was he actually trying to help, even after the way she treated him last week?

He apparently took her confusion to mean she didn’t understand the instructions, and took that as an invitation to hop on the ice—the fact that he was even still wearing his skates surprised her, but probably not as much as it should have. He glided over, stopping gracefully to stand alongside her. “Show me your takeoff.”

“Why?” was all she could say.

“Humor me,” he answered with a wink. She rolled her eyes but did as asked, pushing off and away from him to go into her jump prep, and he watched her, critiquing, if the furrow of his brow told her anything. Was he trying to make fun of her?

“Hold it right there,” he commanded, and she held the pose until she lost her momentum and was just standing on the ice with one leg extended behind her while he skated over. “See, you’re not bending deep enough to get the height you need. See how low I get?” he asked, going into a similar pose. “I know my legs are longer, but try to match this angle.” She bit back the urge to protest and complied, bending her knee just a bit more. It felt odd, but not unachievable. He stood and directed her to “Go on; try that.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye; just what was he trying to do? It wasn’t unheard of for skaters to help each other out, but unsolicited? To be fair, though, she hadn’t turned him away yet, so it couldn’t hurt to try. She took off again, skating in an arc around the rink, and began the prep for the jump, going just that bit lower before bringing her toepick down for liftoff…and there it was: a perfect triple. She was so astonished that despite the flawless landing, she fell right over.

“Woah! You alright?” He was in front of her in an instant, hand extended to help her up. She took it and let him help haul her to her feet, but she must have stood up too fast because suddenly, she was in his (very firm, very nice) arms. “Did you hit your head or anything?” He seemed genuinely concerned—that was a surprise.

“Yeah, yeah—I’m fine. Just shocked I landed it,” she brushed off with a chuckle. It felt good, but it sounded almost hollow, the slide of her lone blade on the ice. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be—or maybe it was just time to call it a night.

“How about we take one together? That might make it be less shocking,” he suggested.

She was a bit too caught up in her enthusiasm over getting it to think much about his offer, but she took him up on it without second thought. They broke apart, and then he counted them down from three to start.

On “one,” they skated away in tandem, steps nearly in sync. He called out “prep,” and they did the same steps to start the jump. And on “go,” they leapt, rotated, and landed almost perfectly and very nearly at the same time, blades hitting the ice within milliseconds of each other and cutting congruent curves in the surface.

It felt even better than the last. She let herself slide backwards into the boards, almost overcome with how great that jump had been. It felt like when she had been back in her peak a few months ago, but somehow even better.

Killian came to a rest next to her. “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan,” he started, nodding at their matching paths in the ice, “but I think we make quite the team.” He winked, and then pressed his arms against the edge of the boards to skate back to the rink exit, but his words lingered.

Maybe he wasn’t the “monumental arse” she thought he was.

She found him early the next day near the entrance to the locker room. “First off, I’m sorry I called you an asshole last week.”

He shrugged. “I probably deserved it.”

She wasn’t going to argue, so she took a breath and moved onto her next point. “And I think you were right. Let’s be a team.”

A slow smile took over his features. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

* * *

**2018**

While waiting for the okay to enter the ice and hearing the audience cheer for the previous pair, Emma felt a dark, warm presence at her side. Killian wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight.

“You alright there, Swan?” he whispered, his warm breath on her ear a sharp contrast to the chill of the arena that sent a shiver down her spine—though, she’d had to stop denying that it was only his breath that had that effect on her.

“Never better,” she answered honestly. How could she be anything but? She was about to compete for a medal with the man who had become her best friend over the last two years. Sure, there’d been plenty of ups and downs, both literally and figuratively, but despite what she’d once thought, she couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

“Shall we, then?” He stepped aside and held his hand out to her, ever the gentleman.

“Let’s do this.” She grabbed his hand, shivering again at the sparks she felt whenever they touched, and they made their way toward the entrance to the ice.

* * *

**2016**

Whatever nerves Emma had before her first day training with Killian, they quickly melted. Well—maybe not that quickly, in the grand scheme of things, but for Emma: pretty damn fast. She didn’t trust easy, especially with her recent history.

When they first started attempting lifts together, there was a learning curve on both ends. For Emma, Killian was just enough taller than Neal that she was freaked out by how high she was. Conversely, Emma was just enough shorter than Milah that Killian wasn’t used to lifting anyone smaller, and may have pulled her up quicker than expected. Needless to say, the first lift—and the third, and the seventh, and the tenth—ended with both of them on the mats of the training center.

After yet another fall, Killian frustratedly barked out, “Perhaps you should try something new, Swan. It’s called trust.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t throw me in the air like a rag doll!”

Thankfully, Ingrid was there to mediate, as was Killian’s longtime coach, Smee. And the first time they executed a clean lift, it felt better than Emma could have even expected. When he easily flipped her down from it, as if they’d done it a million times before, she was relieved to see that his grin matched hers.

Partnered jumps and throws had a similar learning curve, but Emma was trying—damn, was she trying. She was determined to make this work, and she could tell by the fierce set of Killian’s eyes and jaw that he was, too. At least spins came easy; those felt like they’d been doing them as a pair for years with how naturally they fit together.

Overall, it was a better start than she expected. Most people didn’t change partners like that in such a quick time span and have anywhere near the success they were achieving. They knew they still had a ways to go, and a lot to prove—the announcement of the partnering switchups was met with mixed reviews by the skating community at large, and Killian would have to sort out his citizenship to skate for the US—but if the excited glint in their coaches’ eyes was anything to go by, they were on the right path.

She was still reeling from Neal’s betrayal, though, even if she refused to acknowledge she was. Throwing herself into practice was the easiest way to take her mind off of it, but every now and then, she’d hit a familiar pose or come out of a side-by-side jump and expect to look over and see Neal there, but he just…wasn’t. He was gone, like so many other people in her life had been. So it was nothing against Killian, but she was very hesitant to let another person in who had the potential to do that, both from a skating and a personal level.

Killian, however, wasn’t abiding by that. She could sense his growing frustration with her when they were practicing late into the evening, both determined to get their twist lift right. But Emma had a mental block on adjusting to Killian and kept bungling it, whether it was under rotated or lacking height, and forcing Killian to catch her in odd positions that sent them to the ice more than once.

“One more time, I can do it,” she insisted, sitting up from where they’d wiped out to give it another go.

From his seat on the ice, he grabbed her wrist to keep her in place. “No. Hold up—we need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she brushed off, pulling her wrist free.

“I know this is new to both of us, Swan, but at some point, even though we’re quite different, you’ve gotta trust me.”

“That’s what you think this is about? That I don’t trust you?”

“Is that not it?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“Then why won’t you let me in?”

Everything she’d been avoiding focusing on for weeks now came bubbling up. “Because everyone leaves me. My parents abandoned me as a baby; I spent my first 6 years shuffled from home to home in the foster system because no one wanted me; and it wasn’t until I found skating and Ingrid that I found any sense of belonging. And then I spent the last 7 years working with a man who promised to be there with me, who made plans with me, only for him to leave me at the drop of a hat, break my heart, and remind me that even if people know my name, I’m still the same little lost girl I’ve always been. Everyone I love leaves me, and I can’t take that chance with you, too.”

“You think you’re the only one with a sob story here, Emma?” His voice was laced with anger; it took her by surprise. Most people reacted to her story with sympathy or pity, but Killian wasn’t having it. “My mother died when I was a boy, father left not long after, and then my brother gave up everything for me to have the chance to skate, until he died. And then I found a partner, a woman I loved, and she died in my arms, too. I never thought I’d share the ice with someone again—that I’d be able to move on from her. Yet here we are. So don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

He didn’t even give her a chance to respond before standing and tearing away, exiting the ice and disappearing toward the locker room, leaving her speechless where she sat. That was a lot to take in, and explained so much about him.

And he was right—he was totally right. She knew she hid herself behind emotional walls; it was one of the first things she could remember learning how to do. Few people had broken through them, and they usually ended up just building them thicker, like Neal. Killian obviously had his own, but he was clearly willing to make a window in them for Emma; the least she could do was the same.

A clunking noise pulled her from her racing thoughts. Killian was back in the arena, on the other side of the wall, setting two beer bottles on top of it. Confused, she got to her feet and skated over. “Pretty sure they don’t allow booze on the ice.”

“Who’s here to stop us?” he asked rhetorically and took a sip. It was true; once again, they were the only people in the building. So she took the other bottle and followed suit. “Let’s face it, Swan: we’re both broken and beat up in our own ways, and the whole world is just waiting for us to fail. If we’re not on each other’s side, then who else will be?” He punctuated his question with an arch of his eyebrow.

How he always managed to get to the center of a situation was impressive, and she’d probably get tired of it someday, but right now, she couldn’t help but agree. “So it’s us against the world?” she offered, tilting her bottle towards him.

“Cheers to that,” he answered, clinking the lip of his beer with hers. And as they drank in companionable silence, something settled between them—an understanding of sorts, and for some reason, she felt more confident than she thought she had a right to feel. And for the first time in weeks, she was truly excited.

* * *

From then on, things started to click. They weren’t perfect, of course—there were always going to be falls when trying new things, and technique was constantly under scrutiny—but they were able to figure out how to fix issues faster through more open communication and their discovered sense of camaraderie. Emma quickly figured out that the cocky demeanor she’d known in the past was merely a front for a man who was constantly worried with being good enough and expected the most of himself and everyone around him. As it turned out, he’d long had a similar misguided opinion of her: that she was stiff and humorless, when in actuality she’d had to be to counter Neal’s distractedness and lack of focus. With Killian, that was never a problem, so she was able to loosen up and have a bit more fun with her skating.

And just like that, everything fell into place. Killian’s citizenship was granted—his years of training in Michigan counted towards the residency requirement—and they were cleared to skate for the US. Their programs started to come together and were equal amounts fun and challenging. They played it a bit easy when it came to scheduling competitions, electing to not do the Grand Prix this year, but were still invited to a couple events and figured those would be good chances to get in some international competition.

It had been a long time since Emma had been this excited to skate. Obviously, she’d loved it when she was with Neal, but it had always felt a bit more like a job with him. With Killian, she was rediscovering her love of the sport through his own passion and enthusiasm. That didn’t mean that every day was new and exciting and fun, but a hell of a lot more of them were.

Even Elsa noticed it. “You seem a lot happier lately,” she observed one night while they were watching TV in their apartment. “This change has been good for you.”

“Yeah, it really has,” Emma agreed, surprising herself a bit. There were still plenty of moments when Neal’s rejection stung bitterly—he had never replied to any of her messages asking to talk about things—but the closer they got to competition, the fewer those were.

* * *

October brought their first competition, Skate America in Detroit. It also brought a return to Killian’s old training center for practices leading up to the event. In the hallway outside the locker rooms hung all the pictures of the champions who had trained there in the past; near the end, in a large frame, were Killian and Milah with their bronze medals from the Vancouver olympics. He looked younger then, his face cleanshaven and hair neatly styled. He was even wearing a crewneck top; a far cry from the chest hair-baring V-necks he preferred now. But that sparkle in his blue eyes was still there, and she’d noticed it more and more lately.

She heard him coming down the corridor, waving goodbye to yet another person he knew here. It was definitely a homecoming of sorts for him—everyone greeted him warmly, told them they missed him, and wished him well. The two of them had never discussed why he moved to Storybrooke, and after just a day here, she found her curiosity needed to be sated.

“I’ve got to wonder why someone would leave a place where he was so loved,” she lightly teased as he arrived at her side, but they both knew, given her childhood, that it was a serious question.

He stared up at the picture and sighed. “That’s exactly why, actually. I needed to not be the center of attention anymore,” he answered, more honestly than she’d expected. “All eyes were on us here in Detroit at all times, and even when they were just on me, it still felt like they were on both of us.”

“Skating with a ghost?” she pondered aloud. Seeing this—a reminder of what he’d lost—every day couldn’t have been easy for him; it hadn’t been for her that week after Neal left, and his departure was at least voluntary.

“Something like that,” he agreed quietly.

“I think I know what you mean.”

The week and competition went by in a blur after that. As it turned out, Neal and Tamara weren’t doing any Grand Prix events, which had relieved Emma to no end. Instead, she got to focus on reconnecting with her American teammates, Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, and their former teammates Regina Mills and Robin Locksley, who now skated for Robin’s (and Killian’s) home of the UK.

“So they traded you for me?” Killian quipped to Regina, drawing a rare laugh from her, to Emma’s surprise, but she was glad that he fit right in with everyone. It was so nice to hang out with all of them in between practices and competition events; Emma didn’t realize how much she had needed that social connection within the activity right now, and knowing they were there supporting her and Killian meant more than she could express.

They were nervous before their short program (“Crazy Little Thing Called Love” by Queen—hey, it was fun!) and had a couple minor slips, but nothing major, and the crowd reaction was incredible. Their free skate, set to music from  _The Princess Bride_ , didn’t go quite as well—they both made mistakes on an assisted jump, resulting in Emma falling—but overall were pleased with their performance and managed to finish 6th. For a first competition for new partners, that was almost unheard of.

At Skate Canada, two weeks later in Mississauga, they skated even better, saw their score jump 10 points, and finished fourth—ahead of Regina and Robin. And suddenly, they were the buzz of the skating world—no one could believe how well they were doing and how well they skated together; everyone thought it looked like they’d been partners for years instead of months.

More than a few speculated that there was something else going on behind the scenes, but they just laughed at that. Entering a new partnership was one thing; entering a new relationship—given their respective histories—was another thing entirely. Yeah, Killian was hot. But he also had figured out just how to push her buttons when he felt like it, so no matter how good of friends they became, or how much she’d come to rely on his support, she doubted it would ever go past that, or that he’d even want it to.

Competing in Skate America gave them a bye through the New England regional, but they still had to compete in the Eastern sectional competition to attend US nationals. That was where they took their first win, on the ice at Madison Square Garden, with their cleanest run yet. They both could list a million things they still needed to work on—their spin timing still needed some cleaning—but a victory was a victory.

Emma didn’t think a thing of it when she threw her arms around Killian after their free skate score was announced, and he didn’t hesitate to pull her in tight. Long gone was that initial animosity, but that was still their first real hug—not just one for show as part of a routine. It didn’t hit Emma until much later that that was the case—or that she actually quite liked the feeling of his arms around her like that.

They buckled down on training in preparation for Nationals, save for the few days they took off for Christmas. With Elsa back in Norway with her family, it ended up just being her and Killian left in Storybrooke, watching holiday movies and eating frozen pizza in his small house by the sea. It should have been lonely, considering neither of them had any actual family to spend time with, but it was surprisingly nice to hang out with him outside of practice. And it had been ages since she laughed so hard, listening to him talk about his childhood antics.

“So I pulled his pants down and skated away as fast as I could, jumping over a fallen classmate in the process and somehow managing to stay perfectly upright.”

“And that’s how Killian Jones got into skating? Being a little asshole?” Emma teased through her laughter.

“Pretty much,” he shrugged with a smirk. “It was that or hockey, but Liam thought I got in enough fights already.”

“Sounds like,” she agreed, chuckling.

“And how did little Swan find her way out of the nest and onto the ice?”

“Oh, the usual: saw the Olympics on TV and fell in love. Oksana Baiul left quite an impression.”

“Better her than Tonya Harding.”

“Definitely,” she giggled (god, when had she last done that?) “But it wasn’t until Ingrid became my foster mother that I really got started; I wouldn’t be here without her. And after that, it was all I ever wanted: to compete at the Olympics and win a medal.”

Killian gave her a soft little smile she had never seen before; she kind of loved it. “We’ll get you there yet, Swan.”

His assurance did more for her confidence in attaining her dream than a week’s worth of practice.

* * *

Mid-January found them in Kansas City in the middle of the chaos of Nationals. It was nothing compared to world championships, of course, but there was still a level of insanity and a new set of nerves settling in. Because this was the first time they’d go up against Neal and Tamara, who’d posted similar scores to them at their sectional competition. But mainly, Emma wasn’t sure she could face him.

She spent the week making sure they wouldn’t cross paths anywhere: not in practice, not in the hotel, and as little as possible at the competition venue. But just before the short, as she and Killian came off the ice from their warmup, she got a glimpse of him that set her heart racing and froze her in place.

Ever perceptive, Killian pulled her from her raging thoughts and feelings—asking herself why she was even there, how did she think she could go up against him?—with a gentle squeeze on her wrist and “You alright, Swan?”

His warm hand on her skin brought her back to reality, and reminded her who was at her side now. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

“Alright then. Let’s go kick some ass.”

They skated almost clean; just a couple missed edges and Emma wobbled a bit coming out of their side-by-side triple toe loop. But when it was all said and done, that was enough to set them in third after the short, with David and Mary Margaret in second and Neal and Tamara in first.

She forced herself to wear blinders the next day; anything outside her and Killian didn’t matter. Even in warmup before the last round of competition, when she was actually sharing the ice with Neal for the first time in almost a year, her energy was completely directed on their performance. And it paid off: they set a personal best score in the free skate and claimed the silver medal, ensuring they would go on to represent the US at Worlds. Neither she nor Killian could keep the grins off their faces, and she was starting to think she might do anything to keep his there permanently; the way it cut dimples into his gingery scruff was absolutely adorable.

After the medal ceremony, during which she had pointedly ignored that they were standing next to Neal and Tamara, they stepped down to exchange congratulations with the other competitors and friends and she somehow got separated from Killian. She felt a tap on the shoulder and turned, expecting it to be him, but no—Neal.

Instantly, her mood soured. “Congrats,” she offered half-heartedly.

“You too,” he said, though there were clearly other things on his mind.

“Spit it out, Neal. Why did you come over here?” After what you did hung unsaid but understood.

“Just…it didn’t take you long to move on.”

She felt her hackles rise. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You didn’t even wait a week, huh? Or did you just throw yourself at the next man who gave you any attention?”

“You’re the one who left me and you’re trying to lecture me about how fast I found a new partner?”

“You just can’t stand being alone, is all. I thought I’d be doing you a favor, leaving, but I guess not.”

“Fuck you.” She didn’t waste another moment talking to him and immediately skated to the exit, ignoring the varied shouts she heard of her name behind her on her path back to the locker room. Thankfully, it was empty, and she collapsed on a bench—and then let the tears roll free.

How dare he. How dare that asshole even look at her! She was finally to the point that she wasn’t reminded of him at every turn and then he had the nerve—the gall—

“Emma, love, what’s wrong? What happened?” Killian was suddenly kneeling in front of her, hands tracing a comforting line up and down her biceps when she looked up at him with her swollen eyes.

“Neal,” she coughed out, and that was all she could say before emotion took over her again. In just one interaction, he’d reduced her back to that little orphan girl who felt so unloved and alone in the world, and she hated that he had that power over her.

“Shh, Swan, it’s alright,” Killian told her, voice barely above a whisper as he pulled her to his chest. She breathed him in deep, the warm, spicy smell of him she’d become so used to these past months, and managed to calm her breathing from within his sturdy embrace. “Whatever that bastard said, it’s not true. You are absolutely brilliant and no one can tell you otherwise.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, but she’d stopped crying.

“Look at me,” he commanded, guiding her back up and lifting her chin with his hand. She’d never seen him more serious. “Have I told you a lie?”

He’d figured out her instinct to know when people were being untrue pretty fast. And he was right—or, at least, he completely believed what he was saying. And that was enough for her. She shook her head.

“Right then.” He nodded and wiped her tears with his thumb, still holding her face and her gaze. And something shifted then, or maybe it sparked; a charge filled the air, and she found her eyes flitting down to his lips at the same time his made a similar move. The already-short distance between them became nearly nonexistent, as if they were pulled together by an invisible magnet.

And then their lips were on each others, soft and warm and like they should have been a million years sooner. Emma’s hand drifted to his side and the other somehow found its way into the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck. It was a moment that seemed to last forever.

Until she realized that she was kissing her partner in the women’s locker room at the Sprint Center—and honestly, wasn’t that what got her into this position in the first place? Oh, but it was such a good kiss. Reluctantly, she broke it, settling her hands on his trim waist and resting against his forehead.

“That was…” he started, breathless.

“…A one-time thing,” she finished. Because it had to be. Gently pushing him away, she directed, “Go on ahead. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“As you wish,” he murmured. Slowly, he stood and backed away; she couldn’t watch—couldn’t see the expression on his face as he left, because if it was anything similar to how she felt, she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to resist. And there was no way she’d let herself get involved with a teammate yet again.

But as she changed out of her costume and into her warmup clothes, she wondered if it might be too late for that.

* * *

**2018**

Side by side, Killian’s hand clenched tight in Emma’s, they approached the entrance to the ice and stopped to take their skate guards off. Behind the adorable little girl who was going to hold onto them while they performed, Neal and Tamara were coming out of the green room; they were on next, the last pair to skate.

Emma stiffened a bit at seeing them, and she could feel Killian do the same. Terse nods were exchanged, but that was all she let happen before turning her back to them and facing the ice. If she’d learned anything in the past year, it was that she didn’t need Neal anymore and was much better off without him, but he always managed to dredge up that old feeling of insecurity.

Killian knew what she was feeling, though, and squeezed her hand. “Hey—I’ve yet to see you fail,” he whispered, and that was enough to press back those tired thoughts. She smiled up at him; there was no one else she’d want to be doing this with.

“You ready?” she asked, excited.

“Aye,” he answered with a grin.

They stepped out onto the ice hand-in-hand to thunderous applause.

* * *

**2017**

As it turned out, Emma was pretty good at pretending like things never happened, and so was Killian. The events in the locker room in Kansas City never came up again in their next couple months of training for Worlds, and after another whirlwind week—this time in Helsinki—they found themselves in 4th place, just points behind Neal and Tamara.

Which, heading into an Olympic year, meant they were not only favored to medal in PyeongChang, but now found themselves in the midst of a rivalry. They couldn’t say they were surprised, given the situation, but it was kind of funny to see how the media was so quick to pit them against each other in an attempt to stir up interest.

However, she pointedly ignored the speculation that there was more going on between her and Killian. Every pair had that, and every pair had likely pursued that line of thinking at some point, but it actually didn’t happen that often. However, given their histories, the odds were a bit higher in their favor…which made Emma even more resolved to avoid those thoughts and feelings.

Killian made it hard for her, though. He was just so supportive and caring and passionate about what he was doing, and it hadn’t been until Nationals that it really sunk in how different he was from Neal, in all the best ways. Killian wasn’t just in this for himself; he wanted her to succeed as well, and not for his sake, but for her own. “Bloody brilliant, Swan,” had quickly become one of her favorite things to hear.

Once they got back into training for the next season, and started pushing themselves harder, it became even more evident that he was in this for the long haul. It wasn’t just an experiment anymore, and it really hadn’t been in quite some time: they were definitely a team, and completely on each other’s side. There was no way Emma was going to risk messing this up with something as silly as feelings.

She could fight through being hyper aware of his presence at all times. She could handle the heat of his hand on her waist every time they touched, as near-constant as it was. And she could totally stand that earth-shattering grin he gave her after each step forward in their Olympic journey, and the way it made her heart jump as high as she did when he threw her.

Well, maybe she did have a hard time resisting that one, but she’d certainly try. She had an Olympic medal to win, after all. Scratch that—they did.

They threw themselves into training, doing whatever they could to maximize their own potential and skills for the season ahead. They knew what they needed to work on to get an edge over the competition—not just Neal and Tamara, but globally. The Russian pair, siblings Ava and Nikolai, handily won Worlds, and the team from China, Mulan and Li, were just as incredible. There was no time for slouching if they wanted to reach the podium in PyeongChang.

Summer was nothing but ice time, dance class, and strength training, and getting an early start on planning their schedule and routines. Getting a quad jump would be the hardest part, but they were determined to bring that element in to get a competitive edge. They had some early success with it, but decided to hold off on adding it into their program until Nationals for a late boost in scoring.

Before they knew it, they were in Russia for the first Grand Prix event—the first in what would be an 8-week tour of the world, save for skipping the Cup of China to give themselves a week off and make any changes to the program they’d need.

Somehow, they drew the first performance slot in the short program. Emma hated going first, but Killian loved it, for some reason.

“The ice is totally clean and we get to set the bar for everyone else to reach. What could be more thrilling than that?” he effused, bouncing on his toepicks. She just shook her head and chuckled; he had the enthusiasm of a 5-year-old sometimes, and in moments like this, she let it carry her along.

A hush fell over the audience as they took their opening pose. She could feel her stomach start to turn with nerves but Killian, ever observant, just cocked an eyebrow at her and they all melted away just in time for the music to start. Besides, it was hard to do anything but have fun when the score to Pirates of the Caribbean was playing in the background.

As usual, Killian was right: they not only broke their own first-competition record from last year, but they set the highest score overall until Neal and Tamara performed almost at the end.

“Told you,” Killian smugly boasted as they left the kiss-and-cry area. She just elbowed him in response.

At the end of the day, they were third after the short program—Mulan and Li were there, too—and stayed there after a solid, but not perfect, run in the free skate. All in all, a good start. There was a slightly awkward moment when she crossed paths with Tamara in the locker room, but otherwise, the competition was without conflict.

Well, mostly. Killian seemed oddly pissed when he flopped down on his seat in the back of the van taking them to the airport. Right away, she asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Your ex is a bloody wanker, that’s what.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A dimple briefly appeared as he smirked, but quickly disappeared. “He was just going on and on about how he and Tamara had this season in the bag, and no one could touch them. That it would be smooth sailing from here to Korea and no one else stood a chance, least of all us.”

Emma’s mouth tightened to a thin line, but she wasn’t quite as angry as she expected to be—though she briefly wondered if Neal did that when they skated together. “He’s an idiot; just ignore it.”

“Oh, I know he was talking out his arse. Just makes me want to kick his all the more.”

“I can drink to that,” she agreed with a smile, putting one back on Killian’s face. (And drink to that they did at the airport bar.) They both knew Ingrid would probably admonish them for setting a target on Neal’s back, but honestly, it was just a stepping stone to the top.

And it paid off. The next weekend at Skate Canada, they actually edged ahead of Neal and Tamara in the short program. The other pair had an incredibly solid triple-triple combination in the free skate that made it hard to beat them, but if Emma and Killian could get that throw quad worked out, it would give them the boost they needed. They continued to practice it, but were just a hair shy on the rotation, enough that it would count against them in scoring.

* * *

The following weekend was their one break in Grand Prix season, and they decided to spend it training in PyeongChang. Obviously, they couldn’t use the Olympic facilities, but they managed to find a quiet rink nearby to practice in. It was nice to get away from everything and just focus on them; even in Storybrooke, there were always other skaters peeking in or needing the ice before or after them. They weren’t the only ones here in PyeongChang, but it was much quieter.

One evening after rehearsal, they found themselves wandering the city and ended up outside the construction of the Olympic stadium, where the opening and closing ceremonies would be held. It wasn’t quite done yet, but the lights that lit the scaffoldings around it already made it look magical.

“What’s it like?” Emma asked once they settled onto a nearby bench. She’d been through Worlds and was used to that kind of international competition, but the Olympics were a whole other thing. She might as well know what she getting into from someone who’d been there before, even if it was a while ago.

A small, wistful smile took over Killian’s face. “It’s…simply magical. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. The energy is incredible; the sense of camaraderie. There’s nothing like it.”

“Were you nervous?” Eight years is a long time, especially for a skater; he was almost always cool and collected now, but there had to be a point when he wasn’t.

“Oh, aye, couldn’t help but be. Even thinking about the potential of making these ones gives me butterflies,” he admitted, looking up from the ground to her. “But I knew I had the best person possible at my side, and I trusted her. That was enough.”

She swallowed at the sincerity of his words and the intensity of his gaze. Even if he was talking about Milah, she could pick up on his double meaning. But there was something else there—something she didn’t want to identify, so she looked away lest they have a repeat of Kansas City. They sat there for a few more minutes, until a text from Ingrid summoned them back to the hotel.

On the walk back, Emma’s fingers accidentally brushed against Killian’s, and that same old spark felt like a lighting bolt. She shoved her hands into her pockets and kept them there until she was in her room.

* * *

That week in PyeongChang was just what they needed to power through the rest of their Grand Prix schedule. They went back and forth with Neal and Tamara in scores—finally finishing ahead of them at the Internationaux de France—and never finished off the podium at any event. Their first gold medal was Skate America, which also marked their personal best score.

There was a week off of competition in between for Thanksgiving, for which Killian joined her, Ingrid, and Elsa for the first time. It had long been the ladies’ tradition and they were more than happy to bring him into it.

Elsa, however, saw another angle into it. While Ingrid and Killian were working in the kitchen, she cornered Emma. “So, when are you going to admit to yourself that you’re in love with him?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma answered coolly. It was well-rehearsed because she knew Elsa was going to comment on it at some point; she just figured it would be some random night at home instead of right before Thanksgiving dinner.

“You certainly do know! Did you forget that I live with you, Emma, and I had to watch you and Neal make out on the couch countless times.”

“Ugh, why are you mentioning him?”

“Because I remember how you looked at him, and I see how you look at Killian. You’re even more infatuated with Killian than you ever were with Neal.”

Elsa had an infuriating knack for pointing out the glaring truth at the most inopportune times, especially when it was something Emma was firmly trying to ignore or deny. But she was right: the intensity of her feelings for Killian, whatever they were, was far deeper than anything she’d felt for Neal, and it honestly terrified her. A quadruple axel scared her less, or whatever that made-up move was in Blades of Glory that killed a person. She may have let Killian in as a friend, but letting him in as more was something she wasn’t ready for yet.

Elsa continued, softly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t want to pressure you. But maybe after you two win that Olympic medal, take him back to the apartment and shag him senseless, okay?”

“Elsa!!”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think he wanted it, too.”

* * *

They finished third in the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya. There was a rough spot on the ice that messed up Killian’s takeoff of their double axel in the short program and he ended up on the ice; Emma quickly helped him up and they finished the rest of it without flaw, as with the free skate, but that deduction was just enough to hold them back from overtaking Neal and Tamara in second. The Russians were practically untouchable, but the quad jump would put Emma and Killian in contention with them—if they could get it.

Success was coming much more often as they worked on it in the couple of months before Nationals, but Emma had the tendency to overthink it, and that was usually when she found herself facing away from Killian instead of towards—or worse, face-first on the ice.

It was another late night in the rink and they were there by themselves, much like that night months ago when they’d first struggled with these jumps and ended up spilling their life stories to each other. But this time, the animosity was gone, replaced with a mutual understanding—but there was still a sense of frustration.

After her last mess up, which left her splayed on the ice yet again, Emma just stayed down, mentally berating herself for her inability to get that last half rotation. She was doing everything right, wasn’t she? What was it missing? Or was she trying to force it too much?

Killian’s anxious voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Swan? Emma? Are you alright?” He was on his knees next to her, his hand gently shaking her back. She turned her head to look up at him and was surprised to see him panicking and biting his lip. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen with him, not by a long shot—but then she remembered what happened with Milah, and suddenly felt terrible.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she assured him, pushing up to sitting. “Sorry; didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Without warning, he pulled her into a hug. “Damn right, you’re sorry. I can’t lose you, too, Emma.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words as her arms wrapped around him. “I’m fine, I promise,” she murmured into his shoulder, and he squeezed her just a bit tighter. It reminded her of that night in Korea, of the heaviness of his words when she least expected it. It made her want more than she’d ever allow herself to.

If he realized what he’d admitted, he didn’t acknowledge it and broke away. She was relieved to see that his features had relaxed, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “Just let the jump happen, Emma. You’re trying to force it too hard; I probably am, too. It’s there. Let’s just calm down and do it, okay?”

Her mind briefly traveled to other places on his use of “do it,” but she nodded and let him help her up to standing.

“Just imagine you’re a swan, Swan,” he joked, making her chuckle (and likely succeeding in loosening her nerves).

“I don’t think I’ve done that since I skated to Swan Lake when I was 10.”

“Good thing you got that out of the way early.”

“Oh yeah. And don’t get any ideas.”

Then they took a deep breath and went for it, letting the prep flow from them naturally. She let her feet fall into place, felt Killian grip her hips—just a tiny bit firmer than normal—and then her feet and his body were moving in tandem and she was flying, if only for a moment, twisting through the air and gracefully landing on one leg, looking back at him. He was grinning.

“What’d I tell you? I’ve yet to see you fail,” he shouted as he caught up to her. They did a few more for good measure, landing each one flawlessly.

Part of her couldn’t wait to see the look on Neal’s face when they landed that—but there was no way it could top her thrill at seeing Killian’s smile.

They planned to unveil the jump at Nationals in San Jose. The commentators were buzzing with the news that they had a quad planned for their free skate, and a clean short program had them sitting first headed into the final part of the competition.

Before they took the ice, Killian again was bouncing on his toepicks, but the way he was clenching his jaw betrayed his nerves.

“I’m guessing you don’t share the same feelings about going on last as you do about going first?”

“No, not quite.”

It was her turn to calm him down. “Hey,” she said softly, grabbing his shoulders and stilling him. “We’ve got this. Right?”

He exhaled quickly, as if trying to get the negative thoughts out of his body as fast as possible. “Aye, we do.”

“So let’s go kick some arse.”

He smirked. “Let’s.”

And they did—almost. But there was a different kind of energy and nervousness that came with performing last, and the crowd had cheered awful hard for Neal and Tamara before them. It didn’t faze Emma and Killian much, but enough to only do a triple instead of the quad. The rest of the skate went flawless, but that tiny miss left them ever so slightly behind.

Neal and Tamara took the title again, and Emma and Killian the silver, but only by a point and a half. The most important part, though, was that they were going to the Olympics.

“Are you ready for what comes next, Swan?”

“Hell yeah.”

* * *

**2018**

After a few independent warmup laps of the rink, Emma and Killian met again at center ice, taking their positions on top of those five rings. They wrapped their arms around each other and slid into their opening pose; the feel of his deep breaths against her did more to calm her than anything he could say, but she gave a quick squeeze of encouragement anyway and he did the same.

And then the opening notes of their free skate music, “The Words” by Christina Perri, filtered in, and they were off. All their training, everything they’d been working toward for months—years, even—was on the line, and it all flowed from them naturally and beautifully. Every jump, every lift, every spin felt perfect and organic. They’d had some flawless run-throughs in practice, but with the audience’s energy feeding them, it was something else entirely. Emma had never been one to shy away from pouring her heart into a performance, but that energy combined with her connection to the lyrics and how perfectly they mimicked her own feelings about her partner gave her all she needed to take it to another level. Based on the quiet energy in Killian’s eyes paired with the surety of his every move, she could tell he felt it, too.

And then came the quad. Like everything, they’d rehearsed it so many times, but nerves always threatened to come up. But then she thought of his ridiculous swan analogy and it worked. Time seemed to slow down as she rotated through the air, but then she was solidly back on the ground and her thoughts were drowned out by the audience seconds later. Yet all she noticed was the unstoppable grin on Killian’s face. God, she loved him.

She loved him? Oh, hell, she did. It probably wasn’t the ideal place or time to realize that, but she couldn’t deny it anymore. She loved him.

She couldn’t let that revelation ruin the rest of their program, though, even if not much was left at that point. But she made a point to relish every moment on the ice with him: she held him tighter, reached farther, and gave everything just that extra little bit of finesse that she could, down to the very last second, when she was back in his arms at center ice as the music came to its conclusion and the program ended.

In the background, she was vaguely aware of the audience on its feet. But nothing else registered but the incredible man in her embrace, who was shaking with emotion at the incredible skate they’d just had. She probably was, too, but the only thing on her mind was seeing his face. He pulled back a moment later, laughing with joy and tears brimming at his eyes and there were probably some in hers, too. And she kissed him. She fisted her hands in his dark shirt, tugged him back to her, found his lips, and poured every unsaid word and feeling into that connection. It was like time stood still again, and she could feel his shock as he stiffened next to her but instinctively held her tighter. She broke it before she got too lost in it—the whole world was watching, after all—but damn did it feel good; almost as good as that performance.

He stared at her a bit wide-eyed and slack-jawed for a moment, searching her eyes for an answer to his unasked question. She was an open book to him, she knew, and he quickly found it, but a slight nod said they’d talk about it in a moment. They had other things to finish first.

Whoops now accompanied the general cheering—especially from the performers’ sitting area, where their friends were going nuts (particularly Mary Margaret and Robin). As they took their bows, she knew that somewhere in the audience, Elsa was screaming and blowing up her phone with I-told-you-sos.

She found herself wiping tears from her eyes as she skated towards the ice entrance, completely overcome by everything. She’d just had the performance of her life with the man she loved. How did anyone handle that?

Suddenly, a single rose was in front of her, and a shyly smiling Killian behind it. Laughing—because she knew he’d picked it up off the ice—she took it, and he wrapped his arms around her as they stepped off the rink. Before they grabbed their skate guards, he pressed a firm kiss to her temple that she unconsciously leaned into. She could tell there were so many words on the tip of his tongue, but they were also anxious to get their scores and he was settling with that for now.

Ingrid and Smee were waiting with huge hugs and congratulations in the kiss and cry, but Emma didn’t miss the knowing looks they exchanged before they got there. Emma made sure to thank Ingrid for everything she’d done for her over the years and she knew a similar conversation was happening next to them. And then they settled into the plush chairs to wait for their scores. On an average day, that was almost as nerve wracking as just taking the ice; the feeling was tenfold now.

Finally, the announcer started speaking. “The scores for Swan and Jones of the United States…”

Killian grabbed Emma’s hand while the Korean announcer translated, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight. He’d never done that before, but hey, what was another first today?

And then the number came up. Emma actually couldn’t remember it exactly, but all she knew was that it was not only their best ever, but also an Olympic record and had them in first by several points. They were guaranteed a medal—all she had come here to do (though, technically, they did already have a silver with Team USA, having taken first in the short program then). But, she had to admit, their proximity to the top had her desperately hoping they’d hold on to first.

Event workers quickly ushered them out of the kiss-and-cry and directed Emma and Killian to a green room, where cameras would be on them until Neal and Tamara got their scores. Mulan & Li and Ava & Nikolai were already in the room, so any conversation with Killian would have to wait. They greeted their competitors—who had all skated fantastic—and then settled on the loveseat in the middle of the room to watch the final performance on a large monitor.

Neal had a tense look on his face as the pair hit their opening pose, but Tamara seemed unfazed; good for her. Emma could already tell, from personal experience, that it was going to take Tamara keeping her cool for the pair to succeed—Neal had never done well under this kind of pressure.

They started smooth, and Emma could tell they both relaxed as they got going. This was really the first time she’d let herself watch them without figuring out how to beat them, and she had to admit: they fit together really well, better than she ever had with Neal. But not as well as she and Killian.

It was a nearly flawless skate, and Emma found herself getting a bit nervous. But then, on a side-by-side jump late in the routine, Neal missed a good chunk of the rotation—more than what was allowed by the judges. It was a common mistake of his, and he probably deserved it given the mouthing off and boasting he’d been doing. But that would hold them back a few points—points they had needed if they wanted to overtake Emma and Killian.

Killian’s hand found hers again as they watched the rest of the performance, and they wordlessly waited for Neal and Tamara’s scores; it was almost as stressful as waiting for their own.

Minutes seemed to drag waiting for the announcement, but finally, the numbers were up on the screen, and—it wasn’t enough. Neal and Tamara took third. Emma and Killian took gold.

She turned to Killian, breathless. “We did it. Oh my God, we did it.”

He was grinning again, making her heart race with both adrenaline and love. “I told you: I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She didn’t waste another moment to wrap her arms around him, and then everything set in and she just started crying and bouncing in her seat. Olympic gold. Olympic GOLD. What was her life?

A hand on her shoulder made her pull away; Mulan was there, offering congratulations, so Emma quickly stood to hug her and offer her own on their silver medal. The room just turned into a mess of friendly embraces and well wishes, and she knew more would await them outside, but once the other pairs left the room, she was quick to get back to Killian’s side.

He was still smiling, cheeks rosy with joy, and she held his face in her hands and wiped his own tear streaks away with her thumb.

“I need to tell you something,” she started, finally not scared of her own feelings.

“What’s that?” His face and voice softened, realizing the gravity of the moment.

Confidently, she answered, “I love you.”

“Do you actually mean that, Swan, or is it just because of all of this?” he lightly teased, gesturing around them.

“No, for real—I love you.”

“Good. I love you, too.”

And they kissed again, and she didn’t care if the cameras were on them or who could see. Let them watch. She’d just medaled at the Olympics with her best friend and she was going to celebrate how she saw fit.

Later, as the national anthem played and she stood on top of the podium, the wonderfully heavy weight around her neck had her reflecting on everything that had brought her there. This journey may have started off with a broken heart and a far-off dream, but it ended up bringing her gold and something even more precious than it: him.

(They kissed one more time for the crowd, under the flag and the lights. And then she finally took Elsa’s advice and took him back to her Olympic Village apartment. The rest was history.)


End file.
